


Ménage à Trois

by tomatopudding



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Anal Sex, Double Penetration, Incest, M/M, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Sibling Incest, Threesome - M/M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-03-20
Updated: 2014-03-20
Packaged: 2018-01-16 09:06:08
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,283
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1341133
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/tomatopudding/pseuds/tomatopudding
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Mycroft finds a surprise in his office.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Ménage à Trois

**Author's Note:**

> My first foray into PWP, and yes I know the title isn't particularly imaginative.

This situation was not one that John had ever imagined finding himself in, although it was not particularly unwelcome. His face was buried into the side of Sherlock’s neck, clinging to him and wrapped like a monkey in a tree, the taller man’s hard cock buried deep inside him, pressing relentlessly against John’s thoroughly over-sensitized prostate. John’s entire body was sticky with sweat, being held up and held open by Sherlock’s hands, one on each buttock, dexterous digits digging in deliciously. John was not light by any means, but Sherlock, his stength belied his lean body, held him up easily. 

Sherlock was not the one who was making the situation strange, John was finding himself being fucked by the consulting detective on a fairly regular basis, much to both of their delights. No, the strangeness arose from the pair of hands that didn’t belong to either of them, slipping between sweat-slicked chests, brushing over hardened nipples and quivering stomach muscles, steadily avoiding John’s aching cock and its pre-cum soaked glans. John was quite familiar with this particular pair of hands, having seen them buttoning and unbuttoning a suit jacket countless times or those lithe fingers woven together and resting on a desk or crossed knees. Having those hands on him, however, was a new experience entirely. An experience that John found he liked more and more with each stroke against his flushed skin.

“Such a lovely little pet you have, brother mine,” murmured Mycroft silkily as he finally -- finally! -- wrapped his fingers around John’s aching cock, squeezing gently at the frenulum, drawing a whimper from John.

“I believe you are quite mistaken on who belongs to whom,” Sherlock returned with a smile, trying despite his current upright status to thrust shallowly into the heat of John’s body. 

Mycroft let out a chuckle, punctuating it with another light squeeze.

“You can’t expect me to believe that it was John’s idea for you to perform coitus in my office precisely when you knew I’d be returning from a meeting,” the elder Holmes scoffed.

Sherlock’s smile was slow and languid, his fingers digging harder into John’s buttocks, “Dear brother, that is exactly what I’m saying.”

Mycroft’s breath caught, his grip around John’s cock going slack, “Oh.”

“Do you know what else?” Sherlock queried with a smirk, his voice low and sultry, “He wants us both inside him. Together.”

A keening whimper escaped Mycroft as he surged forwards to claim Sherlock’s mouth with his own. John found himself pressed so tightly between the two brothers that he didn’t even mind the loss of the tight channel of Mycroft’s fist. Mycroft deepened the kiss and pressed closer, the fabric of his suit rubbing against John’s bare back. He felt the heat of Mycroft’s trouser-clad erection pressing against the small of his back. Sherlock eased away from the kiss, teeth sinking lightly into Mycroft’s lower lip before pulled away.

“Are you amenable?”

“Yes. Yes.”

Mycroft punctuated his agreement with light nips to the place where John’s neck and shoulder joined. John craned his head back as far as he could until Mycroft took the hint and kissed him. John had gotten a lot of experience analyzing the way that Sherlock kissed and Mycroft’s style couldn’t be more different. Sherlock’s kisses were filled with the slow heat of a kettle coming to boil. The younger Holmes would start slowly, enjoying the push and pull for dominance before yielding into passiveness except for the occasional nip. Mycroft, on the other hand, took his kisses like a crackling fireplace swallowing a log. There was no question as to who was in control, the elder Holmes putting John at his mercy. John moaned into the wet heat of their joint mouths, feeling rather than hearing Mycroft respond in kind. They only drew apart when oxygen became a necessity. 

John whimpered from the loss and Sherlock leaned forward to fill the void, his cock pressing insistently against that bundle of nerves inside him. Mycroft watched them kiss with a certain fascination, chin resting on John’s right shoulder, hands exploring languidly against hips and waist, dipping into the space between their bodies, caressing John’s cock with a feather-light teasing touch, stuttering slightly when they found the silicone ring around its base. Mycrift’s hands moved to caress the backs of John’s thighs and knees where they were wrapped around Sherlock, raising goosebumps despite the cloying heat that clung to their little bubble of the room. He raked his blunt, manicured nails back towards himself, covering and caressing Sherlock’s hands where they clung to John’s buttocks, squeezing and kneading before moving to stroke the base of Sherlock’s prick where it rested in John’s arse. John jerked out of his passionate snog when Mycroft wriggled the tip of his finger in beside his brother’s cock.

“Christ,” John exhaled harshly.

Mycroft’s finger was not dry, but how and when he had gotten the lubrication was one of the furthest things from John’s mind. Mycroft, his chin still on John’s shoulder, nipped lightly at the doctor’s earlobe.

“Good?”

“Yes,” John hissed, but it transformed into a keen as Mycroft wriggled his finger further inside.

Mycroft continued his ministrations on John’s ear, alternating biting and sucking, as he thrust his finger into John, adding a second and a third, stretching John further than he ever thought possible. 

John and Sherlpck whimpered in tandem when Mycroft’s fingers withdrew. The sound of Mycroft’s flies being undone was unreasonably loud in John’s ears. He felt the blunt head of Mycroft’s prick pressing against him beside Sherlock’s length.

“Are you ready?” Mycroft purred, beginning to press in without waiting for a reply.

The stretch was just on this side of painful as the head of Mycroft’s cock breached him. John panted, open mouthed, his heels digging into the small of Sherlock’s back. The look on Sherlock’s face was one of wonder and he watched the contortions of John’s, reveling in the tantalizingly slow, shuddering slide of Mycroft’s cock beside his. 

“So beautiful, John,” Sherlock was whispering, almost without realizing it, “You are so _fucking_ beautiful.”

John let out a panted laugh, his tongue darting out to wick the sweat away from his upper lip. The feeling of Mycroft’s fully clothed body against his was extremely illicit and John allowed himself to rest against it. There wasn’t much space for movement, but somehow Mycroft managed a small shift that sent ripples of pleasure through them all, like throwing a rock into a pond, the pressure built and spread. Mycroft’s hands were on John’s swollen cock again, tingling touches on overheated flesh. John didn’t even realize that Sherlock was no longer gripping his backside until he felt the taller man’s fingers join his brother’s.

“Please,” John all but sobbed, held up as he was between their bodies with four hands teasing him relentlessly, but lightly, “Please.” It became a litany. 

“Yes, John,” Sherlock replied in a low rumble, deftly removing the doctor’s cock ring. Without another touch, John came, hot spurts coating his and Sherlock’s stomachs and both Holmes’s hands. His body clenched around theirs, Sherlock and Mycroft coming in unison, their seed mingling inside the man sandwiched between them. Sherlock took Mycroft’s cum-stained fingers up to his lips and cleaned both of them with slow sweeps of his tongue. With every lick, Mycroft could feel Sherlock’s unvocalized gratitude. Mycroft captured Sherlock’s mouth with his own, putting _you’re welcome_ and _I love you_ and _anything_ into the curve of his lips. When they broke apart, Mycroft slowly pulled out of John’s now-lax body and tucked himself away. Mycroft left John and Sherlock to it and strode from his office. He was a very busy man, after all.


End file.
